Shaken
by Trish Tavor
Summary: Draco's thoughts as he faces the prospect of becoming a new father. A/U.


A/N This was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (Little League).

Team: Hufflepuff

Position: Chaser 3

Emotion: Scared

Other prompts: Demons (Imagine Dragons), Dalai Lama quote (Happiness is not...), Edgar Allen Poe quote (Never to suffer...)

Also, credit to EvilDime for brainstorming with me and giving me some wonderful ideas for the end... *evil grin* :)

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Draco sat in the main room of Malfoy Manor, chin rested on his folded hands, staring out of the huge picture window. He didn't remember it ever having been opened when he was a child, but now Astoria made sure that it was never closed. At times like this, it almost made Draco uncomfortable, as it seemed like the whole outside world could see in. Out there, it was entirely dark and he could only see the faint outline of the metal gate that surrounded the property. Inside, the fireplace emitted a soft glow that reached out and surrounded the entire room with a strange warmth. One that, once more, he didn't recall ever having existed during his childhood. The Manor had always seemed cold and foreboding then, though when he was younger he hadn't minded nearly as much. Now it bothered him immensely. He desperately hoped that he would not be the same as his own father who made it seem so.

As happened every now and then, Draco was entirely engulfed in both apprehension and regret. Everything else in the world, everything else that had happened since his "childhood" seemed entirely unimportant. His decisions _then_ were the only thing that existed.

His decisions.

His _lies_.

His _regrets._

There was so much that Draco regretted, so much that he wished he could change. So much that he was afraid he would never be able to fully get away from. He remembered the first time that he had used the Cruciatus Curse as though it was yesterday. He knew most people thought that it had been when the dark lo – _Voldemort_ – Draco forced himself to say, even if it was only in his thoughts, forced him to torture that other death eater. His name didn't come to mind anymore as Draco had done everything he could to push it out, to get every memory of that moment as far from him as possible. Either way, those people were wrong. He had used the curse before that. His father was Lucius Malfoy, after all, and he had gotten Draco to use the curse on a Muggle girl when Draco was thirteen. At the time, it hadn't bothered Draco at all. He'd almost forgotten about it for a while.

Now, it haunted him. He could hear the girl's screams like it was yesterday.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he despised himself for the show of weakness. It wasn't really about the girl, it was about _him._ It was about everything that had happened to him after that. It seemed to Draco as though that moment was the turning point, after which everything had just gotten worse. Even after all of these years all that he wanted was to be content for once, to be happy. Yet he knew: happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions. And there was nothing Draco could do to change that. He hated himself, hated what he had done. And this realization always made fear rise up in him, a monster of terror that he couldn't control. He didn't really know when he had started to regret his decisions, or when he had become afraid of this. He simply knew that it had happened and was at loss as to everything else.

And at the moment, waiting here in the strangely quiet room, he felt more lost than ever. After all, he didn't feel at all ready for what was coming.

How could he? He didn't want to make the same mistakes that had already been made all over again. He just wasn't ready at all. And it terrified him.

Shaking his head, he pulled himself from his thoughts and realized that the room wasn't nearly as quiet as he had thought. He must have been deep in his own mind not to have noticed. The typical sounds he assumed to accompany such a thing were there.

Childhood. It was a one-time thing, after all. Once it happened, you couldn't go back. Draco sometimes wished that he could, but he knew that it was impossible. He was who he was, and that wasn't going to change unless he figured something out _now._

Still, he felt an incredible sense of sorrow over the loss of his childhood. And he never wanted to repeat this.

But he was afraid. Afraid that his grief would get the better of him, that he wouldn't be able to do what would be expected of him. That his demons and worries and sorrow would take over.

Music drifted faintly towards him, probably from Astoria's old muggle device. He didn't know how it worked, and he didn't care, but she found it interesting.

 _Don't get too close_

 _It's dark inside_

 _It's where my demons hide_

 _It's where my demons hide_

Draco pulled out his wand and whispered _Silencio_ , immediately silencing the song. For some reason it bothered him.

 _You know why it bothers you_.

It was true. He did.

And then he heard it, a loud wailing scream coming from the next room. He immediately stood up, entirely tense. What seemed like an eternity later a man came out, beckoning Draco into the room. Only he felt as though he was entirely frozen to the spot, unable to move. His past was keeping him rooted there, the immense fear of repeating it keeping him from moving forward.

 _Never to suffer would have been never to have been blessed._

Draco wasn't entirely sure why that came to him at this time; it was something his mother used to say now and then, when things got difficult. Now, it struck Draco as being completely true. If he hadn't gone through everything that he had been through, perhaps he wouldn't have met Astoria. Perhaps he wouldn't be in the place he was now. Perhaps he would still be the old Draco, the selfish, arrogant prat.

Perhaps that would be better.

Closing his eyes, Draco forced this last thought out of his head and moved forward, into the room. Looking up, he stared at the face of his beaming wife. His heart was still heavy, full of fear and regret, while she looked as though she didn't have a care in the world.

"It's a boy," she whispered.

Draco stepped forward and stared at the small bundle in his wife's arms. The baby had the same platinum blond hair that Draco had, but he had Astoria's eyes. He was absolutely perfect.

Draco felt his eyes tear up slightly as any new father's would, but this still made him feel weak for a moment. Then he pushed the feeling away. These were no longer tears of sorrow, or tears of fear. They were tears of happiness.

Everything seemed to make sense now. Everything he'd been through. Looking at his son he felt every possible emotion; sorrow, fear, thankfulness. But over all of that he felt love.

And that washed over everything else.

But the moment of happiness was short lived, as Draco suddenly remembered what kind of world his son would grow up in. A world where Voldemort ruled supreme and Harry Potter lay as dead as every one of Draco's hopes.

Draco had managed to push these thoughts from his head for far too long, but he wouldn't be able to protect his son from their reality. He thought of his place in Voldemort's regime, and how his son would be forced to join far before he was Draco's own age when he had received the dark mark.

And then, without another word, Draco turned and left the room. He couldn't look at his son for another moment. He was far too afraid. Afraid that he wouldn't be able to keep up this façade, afraid that he wouldn't be able to raise his son to be a good death eater like Voldemort would expect.

But then, in some deeper part of him, he was desperately afraid that he would.


End file.
